


& your love burns me with every touch

by swisstae



Series: Cap-IM Bingo 2020 [2]
Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Steve Rogers, Bottom Tony Stark, Dom Steve Rogers, Dom/sub, Established Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt Tony Stark, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I also wrote most of it in 24 hours, Imagine that, Lingerie, M/M, POV Steve Rogers, PWP without Porn, Protective Steve Rogers, Sex Toys, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Sub Tony Stark, THIS IS JUST AFTERCARE, This Is Not Going To Go The Way You Think, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, it was supposed to be pwp but it turned into ONLY plot, whoops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:08:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23243809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swisstae/pseuds/swisstae
Summary: Tony is draped across the red silk sheets, his right arm handcuffed to the headboard, his nearly naked form writhing on the bed as he arches up trying to either chase climax or stave it off; Steve doesn’t know. His cock peeks out over the stained lace panties, the tip red and swollen as it weakly spurts out come, adding to the mess on the sheets and over his chest. He looks thoroughly fucked out, his chest heaving with exertion as he gasps out a small, choked-off noise that strikes an arrow right through Steve’s heart.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Series: Cap-IM Bingo 2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1646299
Comments: 17
Kudos: 135
Collections: Captain America/Iron Man Bingo





	& your love burns me with every touch

**Author's Note:**

> this is the brainchild of a random thought I had while brushing my teeth, and a huge thank you to [Bill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bill_Longbow) for turning it around from a complete mess to something I really do think I love now. 
> 
> Square N4 (Kink- D/s)

Steve’s in a better mood than he’s been in the last few weeks. Sure, maybe parties aren’t really his thing, and he still feels damn uncomfortable in a three piece suit (never mind how many times Tony tried to tell him he looked divine in them) but it’s so much better than being locked into the confines of his own head after- after _that._

He winces. Tony’s name, even whispered into the dark recesses of his mind, is still something he actively tries to avoid because it opens up a Pandora’s box full of regret and anguish. _I don’t need that anymore,_ he firmly reminds himself, _I don’t need Tony in my life to be happy._

It’s futile, most days. Tony still occupies his thoughts more often than not. Sometimes it’s easier to think that had he not gotten involved with Tony, he might have been better off. No pain, no fucking gain, but he could have lived with that. At other times he wonders. Could he have, really? He had been an empty shell of a man before Tony came along and filled him up, like a missing puzzle piece he didn’t realise he needed. He might curse Tony sometimes - for bringing back light into his life when he’d lived so long in the darkness, for teaching him to love again and then leaving him bereft of both - but it’s bittersweet. He _can_ live with that. He has to. 

But today, today his little head in the sand schtick works. He smiles graciously at all the people who’ve turned out to see his latest gallery showing, clinks glasses of champagne with his patrons, has a wonderful dance or two on the makeshift dance floor as the music plays; a quartet that Pepper made sure flew in just for this night. He feels lighter, a sort of airy feeling that only comes with the euphoric buzz of alcohol thrumming in his veins; grinning as he flirts with a beautiful lady wearing a shimmery emerald-green gown. On another occasion it would have given Steve the urge to paint the way it hugs her figure, the way the light bounces off it- but right now he’s content. He just wants to sit back, relax and enjoy himself. After all, it _is_ his night. 

Of course, as things usually run their course in his life, the phone rings just as he’s about to offer the lady (Chelsea, he remembers vaguely, in the part of his brain that isn’t numbed by the sweet stickiness of alcohol) to take a whirl around the dance floor. She giggles, a lovely, intoxicating sound as she motions for him to take the call. Steve smiles softly, turning away to hit the accept button. He doesn’t even check the number. That’s his first mistake. 

Low decadent moans, punctuated by the intermittent buzzing of a- a vibrator, Steve thinks grimly. Silk rustles faintly and then there’s another hoarse moan invading his senses just as Steve closes his eyes, trying to swallow back his anger. He pulls the phone away from his ear, chuckling sardonically when he recognizes the number he’d deleted from his phone a mere two weeks ago. Who else would it be? 

“For fuck’s sake Tony, I didn’t think you were the type of person to accidentally buttdial someone while being fucked six ways to Sunday, but clearly I was wrong.” Steve grits out, striding out onto the balcony to give himself some privacy. “I don’t need to hear how my ex-boyfriend gets fucked by other men while I’m having one of the most important nights of my life. At the very least, you could have respected that.” Steve rubs a hand over his face, feeling the pleasant buzz fade away to sharper, crystalized pain. “Don’t fucking call me again.” He pulls the phone away from his ear, intending to cut the call, but a whimper stops him. 

He swallows. This is bad. He shouldn’t, he really shouldn’t. He has to cut Tony from his life, because being with him is desire and passion and a blaze of too-bright emotions he can’t put a name to, and their combined fire will only burn him in the end. Against his better judgement, he raises the phone to his ear again, and carefully lets out, “Tony?” 

Another sob, and another, until the silence breaks and Tony is speaking, “Steve, please- please, you have to help me, Steve. I didn’t want to do this, I was only trying to punish myself for being so bad, I didn’t mean to take it this far, Steve, I swear I didn’t, I’m so sorry for everything, _Steve-_ ” He gasps, the sound crackling across the phone as he takes another wet shuddering breath, “I can’t come again, oh God, I can’t do it, I can’t even move.” He sounds just as tired as Steve feels. “I didn’t know who else to call.” He sounds so defeated, so desperately sad. 

Steve’s heart aches for a moment, before his head starts to spin with the onslaught of information and the fact that Tony is _crying,_ something he didn’t do even when they broke up; but another part of his brain clears up straightaway. _Tony is in trouble,_ it says, _I have to get to Tony._ Never mind the fact that it’s been two months since they broke it off, four weeks since they’d seen each other, and even longer since they’d done anything like this together- that part of his brain is hardwired to _protect._ He takes a deep breath, and speaks into the phone curtly, his voice holding the commanding tone he employed in the bedroom when they engaged in this sort of play, “Give me ten. Till then, calm down and take deep breaths.” Feeling rather abrupt, he adds in a gentler voice, “Do you need me to stay on the call?” Even if he is angry at him, Tony is still in a delicate state right now, and he needs all the reassurance he can get. 

No answer. Steve walks indoors quickly, murmurs an apology in Chelsea’s ear before he shrugs on his jacket and asks again. “Tony. Do you need me to stay on the call? I need you to make a decision, sweetheart.” And God, how easy is it to fall back into routine, calling Tony endearing pet names as though the last couple of months have never happened. He moves towards the exit, motioning to Pepper about his need to depart. She looks surprised, but when she notes the frown he wears, and his demeanor, her expression changes to one of understanding and sympathy. Steve knows how it looks. Tony pushes him away, but Steve will always come running back when he calls. _Pathetic._ He’s like a moth drawn to a flame; when he’s with Tony, he can’t feel the pain anymore. Pepper waves him away, and he smiles lopsidedly at her, grateful for her unconditional support, before walking out into the frosty night. 

“Yes, please, Sir.” _Sir._ That’s never happened before. Is that what subspace is supposed to be like? He feels the fear clawing up his throat, threatening to choke him. Is he really the most equipped to deal with Tony in this state? He flags down a taxi, muttering Tony’s address absent-mindedly, only paying attention to the way Tony’s breaths rise and fall shallowly. He can sense when Tony’s reaching the end of his tether as the breaths grow sharper and further apart, and he speaks softly into the phone, “Tony, love, can you do something for me? I told you to take deep breaths, remember? I need you to count them for me. Can you do that for me, baby? Like this: one in, two out. Repeat it with me, one in, two out.” He can hear Tony gathering himself, and repeating after him faintly, as his breathing stutters for a beat or two before getting back on track. As Tony starts to calm down slightly, Steve’s breathing eases. Maybe he _could_ do this, after all. 

Steve keeps up the rhythm all the way until the driver comes to a stop outside Tony’s apartment. He throws down a wad of cash, intending to get out of the car as soon as he can, just as the driver speaks up, “Boyfriend?” Steve startles slightly, and then colors, his cheeks warming in a way they haven’t since he had moved in with Tony. (And then moved _out,_ his traitorous thoughts remind him.) He stammers out, “I- we, we aren’t like that anymore. He just- I don’t know.” The driver only grins at him knowingly, before shooing him out of the car. “Good luck, boy. You sound like you need it tonight.” Steve lets out a tight smile at that, his jaw clenched as he looks after the taxi that left him on the slippery curb outside Tony’s building. He really, really needs all the luck he can get. 

He’s about to knock on the door, when he realises the futility of the move. He instead shuffles around in the near darkness (the stupid lightbulb in the hallway is flickering out again, they never got the damn thing fixed) and finds the spare key hidden under the flowerpot that had been kept there for that very purpose, the plant having died out years ago. He lets himself in, and calls out in a low voice, “Tony? Are you in the bedroom? May I enter?” They are _not_ together anymore, Tony made that very clear when he’d basically pushed Steve out of the house on that horrible day that felt so long ago and simultaneously like yesterday, and he isn’t going to accidentally overstep any lines by seeing his ex-boyfriend naked and vulnerable if Tony has decided to change his mind. 

“S-sir? Please, I can’t- I don’t want to be punished anymore. I’m sorry, just please, _please_ stop-” and that’s enough for Steve to send the door flying open. 

Tony is draped across the red silk sheets, his right arm handcuffed to the headboard, his nearly naked form writhing on the bed as he arches up trying to either chase climax or stave it off; Steve doesn’t know. His cock peeks out over the stained lace panties, the tip red and swollen as it weakly spurts out come, adding to the mess on the sheets and over his chest. He looks thoroughly fucked out, his chest heaving with exertion as he gasps out a small, choked-off noise that strikes an arrow right through Steve’s heart.

Steve may not be able to put a name to the happier emotions of life, but this one he knows with gut-wrenching certainty. He can’t even maintain the simmering anger that had been building up, a front to hide just how broken he was after Tony shut the door in his face, yelling at him to get out. His toes curl reflexively, horrified and ashamed at himself for not recognizing that Tony would have beaten himself up over the break-up. Never mind that he hasn’t talked to Tony for more than a month, he should have still _known._ But that’s neither here nor there. He calls out gently, “Tony?” 

There’s a muffled response, as Tony opens his eyes and looks over at Steve, his pupils dilated so far that Steve can’t even see the ring of brown around his iris. “Steve- Sir, you came.” He moans, a pitiful sound that echoes through the room and into the phone that Steve’s still holding to his ear. Steve lets out a breath and steels himself. There will be time to berate himself later. 

“Tony, honey, I’m going to uncuff you from the bed now. It might hurt a little, since you’ve been in that position for quite some time now, but I promise I’ll make it better.” Steve says softly, moving to close the gap between them. He carefully unlocks the cuffs, lowering Tony’s arm to the bed. His wrist is scraped red and raw against the side of the steel cuffs, a clear sign of him having tried to release himself. He finds the key under the bed, much too far for Tony to have reached without help. Steve swallows back his guilt again, but this time it’s less intense as he falls into the natural role of taking care of Tony. He can feel the hyper-focus settling into him, making sure that Tony is the only one he thinks of. 

“There, see? Now I’m going to get up and start a bath. Would you like that, sweetheart?” Steve talks, making sure to keep his voice level and low so as to soothe Tony with mindless chatter, enough to make him comfortable enough to move him. “Can you wait here for me while I check how hot the water is? I’ll only be a minute.” Tony doesn’t respond, his eyes glazed over with tears as he stares up at Steve without really seeing him. 

Steve bites his lip, worrying it slightly. This is much worse than he thought, and he needs to get Tony back up before he sinks in all the way. They’d never even experimented this far, preferring to leave it at a ‘floaty level’ as Tony liked to call it, just enough for Steve to bring him back with a back rub and some orange juice. 

Steve improvises. He takes the phone that’s lying on the bed beside Tony, and places it next to his ear. He rings himself up, and gently gets up from the bed, walking towards the bathroom quickly. He starts to talk, “Do you remember when we went to Central Park to have a picnic? It was probably our second or third proper date, and you’d decided to let me ‘run free’ in the open air, because I was going to drive you nuts with all the pacing I did inside the apartment.” Steve moves methodically, his hands working on autopilot, turning up the water pressure to the right amount, and heating it just the way Tony liked it. 

“Then, when we finally settled on a place to unpack our supposedly ‘home-made’ food, which was just the hot dogs you’d picked before coming home the previous night, those kids kicked their football into us and spilled grape juice all over your legs. Honestly, thank fuck you weren’t wearing the slacks you wanted to, because you would have bitched about it for days otherwise.” Steve rolls up his shirt sleeves and the legs of his pants as he walks out of the bathroom. “It’s not exactly as though that deterred you from kicking up a huge fuss about looking like you peed your pants, but at least we got to eat hot dogs before the rain came and soaked us to the bone.” 

It had been a good day, Steve thinks fondly. Seeing Tony so carefree in a pair of shorts and a baggy t-shirt, wearing ridiculously huge sunglasses had been so wonderfully perfect. Of course, getting drenched in the rain wasn’t a picnic (oh, the irony) but running through the streets of Brooklyn, Tony yelling hysterically, his face split into a huge smile as his wet hair piled onto his face, pulling Steve from shelter to shelter… That had more than made up for the terrible colds they both caught. 

Tony whimpers, making Steve straighten up and out of the memories holding him captive in a far simpler time. He walks back to the bedroom, and gently lifts him into a seated position. The whine Tony lets out is enough to make Steve let him lie back down on the bed. “Tony? Is there- oh.” Tony’s pointing downwards hesitantly, the pain of having been moved clearly having woken him up a bit. “I’m going to check okay, baby?” 

Steve carefully widens Tony’s legs, hitching them slightly upwards as he bends down to see Tony’s pink, puckered hole, in which- ah. The vibrator he’d heard over the phone. It’s nestled in pretty deep, and Steve really doesn’t want to make Tony hurt worse but it would probably be better to take it out before he makes Tony settle in for a bath. 

Steve shuts his eyes tightly, pursing his lips together. He opens them again, to see Tony’s beautiful face, his expression lost and forlorn even as he stares up at Steve. _God give me strength,_ Steve thinks. _I can’t fall in love with him again._

He takes in a deep breath, and starts talking again. “Remember when we had to sleep on the couch outside because the heater in our room wasn’t working and the landlord wouldn’t let you fix it on your own?” He grabs the tube of lube resting on the bedside table and warms it up, rubbing his palms together. He circles Tony’s hole gently, slowly slipping in a finger as Tony lets out a breathless gasp above him. There’s still no indication that he’s heard anything Steve’s been saying for the past- God, had it been nearly half an hour? But he continues anyway. 

“You were squirming around so much because you were dreaming about needing to pee, and you almost pushed me off the damn couch in the middle of the night.” The lube is finally taking effect as the vibrator starts to move inside Tony. Steve rubs in a little more, trying to get the perfect angle to remove it, when Tony moans, a short lived half-cry, that hitches when Steve moves his fingers further accidentally, pushing the vibrator deeper in. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry, honey, I didn’t mean- okay, here we go. I’m going to try and remove it now, okay? Once I remove it, then we can go and have a nice hot bath to get rid of all your aches. Does that sound good?” All the while, Steve’s slowly pulling it out, keeping a steady pace so as to not give Tony any more shocks. It’s far too long to be just a vibrator though and as it finally slips past Tony’s entrance, Steve can see the long black curves that make it look just like a thick dildo with a vibrating tip. “God, Tony. How did you even get this in you?” Something about his tone must set Tony off, because now he looks dangerously close to tears and Steve hastens to comfort him. 

“Baby, baby, don’t cry. Don’t cry. I’m not judging you, honey, I’m just-” Just _what?_ What can he say that’ll make all of this better? Steve’s just- Steve. He’s not a dom, no matter how much he feels like he wants to be one when he’s with Tony; he’s not really even qualified to do things like these. They’d just dabbled in it a couple of times. Tony was the one who was supposed to show him the ropes, but Tony’s clearly so out of it that he can’t even tell Steve if it’s bad or good. 

He tries again. “Baby? Can you look at me?” Tony obliges, his eyes large and liquid and quivering with naked emotion. Steve feels his heart clench deep inside his chest. Fuck, he loves Tony. Just thinking about it makes his heart flip in his chest with undisguised fear. He can’t enter Tony’s life again and just- just fall in love with him. _Again._ It would probably tear him apart, and for good, this time round. 

But this isn’t the time or the place. This is for _Tony,_ he reminds himself. He will have time to have a breakdown in his own apartment later, when Tony’s not looking at him as though he’s the key to all the mysteries of the universe. 

“I am so, _so_ proud of you.” Tony makes a sort of disbelieving noise at that, and Steve wants to cry from relief. For him to even acknowledge what Steve is saying is a huge step up from the distant looks he’d given ever since Steve stepped into the room. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Tony’s coming back to the surface, he’s not lost him somewhere deep. “You are the bravest man I’ve ever known, you have the biggest heart, and so what if we were dirt poor and scraping for pennies? You made everything better. Working five jobs between the two of us wasn’t easy, and we were terrible at talking about how terrified we were that we’d have to live like this for the rest of our lives- but I was happy. Because I was with you. You made this dingy place seem so much brighter, smiling and laughing and playing music on that shitty radio we found in that junkyard, pulling me up from the couch to dance with me.” Steve’s voice is hoarse now, he hasn’t talked so much in what feels like forever. 

They were runaways, the both of them. Tony was running from his family, his legacy and his people; Steve was running away from himself. 

“You and I, we were good together. Too fast, too volatile, too _much_ sometimes; but we were unstoppable.” Tony’s eyes are losing the fog behind them, as he becomes more alert, almost to the stage where he can speak again. And just as Steve’s hopes start to rise, Tony opens his mouth. “Sir, sir- don’t be sad.” And it’s said in this sweetly plaintive voice, full of naive innocence that Steve wants to cry, hug Tony, and run away all at the same time. He’s terrified of what will come next, because he doesn’t think he can take care of a pliant and perfect Tony who doesn’t know any better than to show his sweet vulnerability, and then be kicked out once it’s all done and Tony’s back to himself. 

It wasn't like this in the beginning. 

They were dirt poor because Steve’s ma had left him the house but not much else, but they managed with what little they had. Tony’s eyes shone brighter than Steve had ever seen them when he worked with Howard; his expressions became more exuberant. He used to sneak in to see Tony during his breaks when he was still living with his parents, when Howard left him alone to shmooze around with the Board- a janitor, keeping the Stark heir company? The idea itself was laughable- but Tony welcomed him with open arms and a small smile that never once reached his eyes. Steve had never once seen him _happy_ in that sorry excuse for a home. Homes were made with love, or so that’s what Sarah had taught him. And he made sure Tony always felt that love when he was with Steve, even if he didn’t say it in so many words. Tony was happy _here,_ in this tiny existence they’d carved out for themselves. 

The fights came much later, when Obie started to drop by more often, when Tony once saw Steve looking at Obie thoughtfully. His eyes sorrowful as he said, “You should probably just take the money. It’d save you from being-” _With me,_ he left unspoken. Steve had been struck mute with rage, at Obie and Howard and everyone who had ever told this perfect man that he was worthless, that he didn’t deserve anything that made him happy. But Tony started to pull away, he got snippier and he got irritated at every little thing Steve did. 

That had been the beginning of the end. Nearly a year of blissful happiness, to be wrenched away by a silly fight that should never have escalated the way it did. 

_My darling sweet boy,_ he thinks to himself now, seeing Tony’s expressive eyes widen, as he tries to wipe away the tears that have sprung to Steve’s eyes unbidden. _I will always love you._

Tony is breaking down all the defences he’d built up for himself in the two months they’d stayed apart, and Steve is too broken, too weary, too tired to resist the thought. He _does_ love Tony. He could never lie to himself. Not even on the days when their break-up hit all the wrong parts of Steve, making him buckle over with the phantom pain of losing a person so dear to him. Not even the times he wanted to _hate_ Tony for showing him how to love again and then destroying him so callously. He hadn’t felt pain as intense in years, not after his mother died, not after he came back from the war. His paintings had been riddled with blood and guns and an all-consuming fire, until Tony brought back life into them, and now he’s become too used to seeing color in his life. He doesn’t want to go back, not when he’s had a taste of what life could be if he tried to _live_ it, instead of just surviving it.

Steve sniffles once, twice, and then he gets up. Enough weakness shown for one night. He’s here for Tony. He brings Tony to a seated position at the edge of the bed and then pulls him into a bridal style carry. Tony giggles, a sound that is worlds apart from Chelsea’s high, tinkly laughter, but one that is so much more dear and familiar to Steve. 

He gently lays Tony down into the tub, having stripped him of his panties before stepping into the tub himself. He’s still wearing his pants, because he doesn’t want to scare Tony away, but he did divest himself of his shirt. No need to ruin all his clothes today. 

He pulls Tony to his chest, lathering the antiseptic soap onto his hands and starts to wash away the come stains. Tony doesn’t move, his head lolling against Steve’s shoulder, as Steve continues to clean his body. Steve hums under his breath, a soft sweet slow lullaby his mother used to sing to him. He takes his time with Tony’s body, trying to keep his touch clinical and detached, but memorizing the curve of his ass, the dip between his collarbones, the lines of his hip bones as he carefully washes him clean. Who knows if he’d ever get the chance to do so again? 

When he reaches Tony’s hole, he tries to get Tony to wake up, even though he’d have preferred that he get his rest. Tony makes a little sound before he wakes, something that Steve resolutely tries to not find awkwardly endearing. Steve murmurs into his ear, “Hey, Tony, I’m going to need your permission to touch you here.” Tony’s still sluggish, but he’s rapidly moving up faster through the stages of subspace. Or at least, that’s what Steve hopes. (He’s going to read _everything_ about BDSM and sub space after this is over. He sincerely regrets never taking the time to read about it in the first place, but after the breakup it was too painful.)

Tony nods and makes a sound that could be construed as affirmation, and Steve circles the rim of his hole, before slipping in a finger and removing all traces of lube as quickly and effectively as he can. He’s not trying to be erotic here, he needs to clean Tony as fast as he can, so that he can get him back to bed and make him sleep it off. 

Stifling a sigh, he moves to get up, carrying Tony with him. Stepping out of the tub is a touch-and-go kind of situation, but he makes it out, only to remember that he probably has to change the sheets before he can put Tony back there. God, this was not what he’d been expecting this evening to bring. 

Soon enough, he’s got Tony dressed in an old sweatshirt (that belongs- belonged?- to Steve, and to think that Tony’s probably worn it recently strikes a flare of possessiveness in him) gently massaged his bruises with arnica gel and settled him on his bed. He doesn’t know if he should leave, or stay but Tony decides for him by stretching out an arm and dragging him to bed with a sleepy pout. 

Steve goes, willingly. It’s going to be bittersweet, as far as memories go, and he’s long accepted the fact. 

He tucks himself in by Tony’s side and is lulled to sleep by the soft breaths huffed out in sync with his own heartbeat. 

** 

When Steve wakes up, there’s an empty patch on the bed next to him. He tries hard to not feel used, but in the lilting light of day, the events of the previous night seem starker and he can’t help but wonder, _is this it?_

He props himself up on an elbow, far enough to see that the glass of orange juice set out for whenever Tony woke up, is drained to the pips. He stretches out himself with a groan, and pads over to the bathroom- and there Tony is, soft and sleep mussed, staring at himself in the mirror and… back to himself, if the glare directed in Steve’s direction has anything to do with it. 

“You didn’t need to come, you know. I was fine. I could have handled it.” 

Steve rolls his eyes. “Handled it? Ha. You were doing a pretty piss poor job of _handling_ it when I got here. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t remove the fucking vibrator, you couldn’t even speak by the time I arrived, and it only got worse before it got better.” 

“You don’t know that! I think I have a better idea of what I can or can’t take, _Steven!_ ” He spits out, his chest heaving. “I don’t need you to run after me your whole life, okay? You can’t always be there for me!” Tony’s volatile now, and trying to get a rise out of Steve. Maybe even till last night, Steve _would_ have gotten angry at him, would have probably yelled out a few choice expletives and walked right out of the house, but- but. He knows better now. 

Tony is shaking, his hands trembling minutely, his eyes darting from place to place, looking at anywhere but Steve. His shoulders were ramrod straight when Steve had entered the bathroom, but now he’s hunching into himself, trying to shrink into the oversized sweatshirt. _He’s scared,_ Steve thinks absentmindedly. That’s the kind of behavior Tony reserved only for occasions like Obie coming over, trying to coerce him into coming back, trying to pay off Steve so that Tony could be the golden goose his father always wanted him to be. _Why is he scared of me?_

Tony’s masks are painfully thin, his wide eyed vulnerability from last night still tugging on Steve’s heartstrings. Why does that remind him of something? The expression on Tony’s face is- oh. 

_Oh._

Tony _is_ scared, he realises. He’s _terrified_ of losing Steve, just as terrified as Steve is of losing Tony. He knows, because that’s exactly how he’s looked like in the mirror for the past two months, his skin pale and gaunt, the jagged edges of his heart bleeding and chafing with all the lingering shadows of their ugly breakup. Steve clears his throat. Now or never. 

“What if I want to be, though?” 

“What?” Tony tilts his head to the side, confused. It’s painfully endearing. 

“What if I want to be there for you, always?” Steve gulps. It’s out there now. He can’t take it back. A sort of calm settles in him, after letting out what he’s wanted to say all along. He’s done being angry behind thinly veiled hurt. If Tony wants this too, he’ll either accept it or kick him out of the house; but Steve is done hiding. He’s not sorry for loving Tony, he never will be. 

Tony stares at him as though he’s suddenly sprouted two heads, is wearing a fur boa and spinning around on a unicycle. (He kind of likes the imagery. Maybe he’ll draw it one day.) 

“I need a fucking drink and _you_ need to put on some clothes.” Tony stalks past him and pours out another glass of orange juice. 

Well. That wasn’t exactly how he’d planned that one to go. 

** 

They do talk, later.

“You could have actually _said_ something about it, Tony, instead of just pushing me away.” 

“I was scared, okay? Obie told me that they’d left me everything because the will had never been touched, not even after I left home, and I wanted nothing to do with it! If I’d had to take up the Stark mantle I would need to come out into the open and I couldn’t make you do that for me.” Tony grounds out, his eyes wild with repressed rage. 

“And you didn’t give me the option to choose? What I wanted to do? I’d have stayed with you, Tony. We’d promised to be together, regardless of anything that came between us.” Steve says, his shoulders sagging. They were supposed to love each other. 

A broken pause. 

“How did we fuck this up so badly?” 

“I don’t know.,” Steve sighed. “I shouldn’t have left when you told me to, I knew I shouldn’t have listened to what you were saying because you hardly seemed to know it yourself.” 

“Don’t blame yourself, Steve, we were both at fault. We should have worked this out.” Tony places a hand on Steve’s. It’s comforting, to feel the callused pad of Tony’s thumb rubbing gentle circles on his knuckles. 

“Yeah. We probably could have too. It would’ve saved me the worry about you not being able to survive on your own, _and_ you feeling the need to punish yourself without supervision of your dom.” 

“Oh, _Steve._ ” Tony’s voice is laced with hurt. “I’d have been better than that. I’m the one living in your house, anyway. But- I’ll admit, I kind of took the punishment a little too far.” 

“A little? _A little?_ You were sobbing when you called me, Tony, that’s so fucking far from okay that I- I don’t even know what to say. I couldn’t even understand what the hell was going on! Why would you even feel the need to punish yourself? You did nothing to warrant that sort of extreme measure.”

“You don’t?” Tony laughs, a broken little sound. “Isn’t it obvious? I made you leave me and then I couldn’t handle it. I was a bad person and I had to _do_ something about it.” 

Oh God, was this what Tony thought? Was this what pushed him into doing something clearly so unsafe for himself? 

“Baby,” Steve chokes out, “that’s the furthest thing from what you are. I may not know much, but punishments are supposed to be generated by someone who can control the rate at which you get dealt your punishment. It’s supposed to make you feel better, not worse. And I’m so sorry that you felt as though you needed it, because I would have never done it to you. No matter how much you asked. Besides, you said it yourself. You’re a sub. My sub. Shouldn’t it be up to me whether or not you should be punished?” He winces. The edge of possessiveness in his tone probably wouldn’t go down well with Tony. Who knows what they were now, where they stood?

“We were both wrong, you said it yourself. And we can fix it together. We can at least _try._ ” and his voice breaks on the last letter, no matter how much he wants to stave off the emotions that will eventually engulf him. 

Tony’s hand stops its ministrations for a second, but then continues, slower. 

“Maybe you’re right. Sooner or later, we would have had to talk about it all. And we’d come to the same conclusion as we have now.” 

Steve lets out a careful breath, before saying in a measured voice, “Which is?” 

Tony looks down, like he can’t meet Steve’s eyes head-on, but then raises his head and says matter-of-factly, “That I can’t do this. Not alone. I need you to keep myself sane at this point. I love you, and you wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t love me either. So, I’m just-” Tony breaks off uncertainly, but Steve- Steve can’t breathe. 

“What?” It’s disbelieving, a sort of high-pitched screech that he can’t really believe came out of his own mouth. “You still love me?” 

Tony’s plaintive, pleading look melts into something far more familiar, as Tony rolls his eyes and snaps at him, “Seriously? That’s what you’re going to fixate on?” 

“You-you’ve never said that before. I mean, I knew you loved me, but- I mean, I didn’t _know,_ you know?” Steve’s the one who’s blabbering now, the words pouring out of his mouth with no way to control them. “And- I just thought that maybe you needed more time, it’s only been like a year since you moved in, and we were still working out the whole, you know, living together thing and I didn’t think- I didn’t think you’d ever actually say it back.” 

Tony’s irritation fades away to give place to something milder, his eyes softening in understanding. “Because of Howard? Yeah, my old man did a number on me, but not enough to ruin me from ever trying to be happy.” He moves closer to Steve, his eyes searching for any signs of hesitation. Not finding anything, he continues softly, “Not enough to ruin me from saying that I love the man who gave me his everything, just so that I could be happy. A man who sacrificed his own home to make sure I’d have somewhere to live, a man who never once told me that I wasn’t welcome even when we could barely look each other in the eye.” 

Steve can hardly breathe. Tony continues, even softer than before, “A man who loves me, as much as I love him.” 

It’s one, two, three beats of silence until the tension suspended in the room snaps, and they surge forward. It’s not slow and chaste, how Steve thinks kisses should be when you’ve barely talked to each other for months. It’s fast and messy and desperate, Tony opening his mouth wantonly and sucking on Steve’s tongue, the filthy sound drawing out shivers of pleasure from Steve. He traces the lines of Tony’s arms, electricity arcing through his fingertips as he relearns the curves of Tony’s body. 

Tony moans, his hands scrabbling for purchase on Steve’s back. They rut against each other, barely staying apart for a breath before their tongues clash in tandem again. Inexplicably, instead of reaching a high, the kiss slows down. Suddenly it’s lazy slides of their tongues against each other, a gentle brush of Tony’s hand across his cheekbone, the warmth of Tony’s body against him a reassuring presence. 

They’re breathing into each other’s mouths now, drawing apart so slowly it hurts, their lips swollen and red with love and lust and all things in between. There is a still silence in the room, and the tension is back, but it has a less threatening presence this time. 

“Maybe- maybe, this time we can work it out?” Tony tries out, his shoulders moving lopsidedly as he tries to decide between shrugging or not. His mouth is quirked into a half smile, tilting up at the edges. _He’s so fucking beautiful,_ Steve thinks. _Did I ever stand a chance at not loving him?_

He smiles at Tony, a full blown one, something he hasn’t done for what feels like years. “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that.”


End file.
